


The Death of the Moon

by AwashSquid



Category: Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon, Bishoujo Senshi Sailor Moon | Pretty Guardian Sailor Moon (Anime & Manga)
Genre: F/F, F/M, contains character death, contains violence, this is Dark and Not Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-12-10 21:18:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 19,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11700081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwashSquid/pseuds/AwashSquid
Summary: In their final battle as Senshi, Usagi gave her life to save the world.--An AU where Usagi is dead, and everyone else is left to pick up the pieces.





	1. Inner Senshi Vignettes

Eternal Sailor Moon looked into the undulating black mass in front of her, spreading at an alarming rate and covering two city blocks. Sailor Mars had been watching, and she saw the exact moment that Usagi decided to act, revealed to her by the clenching of the small fists and the tiny wrinkle between her eyebrows. “Don’t you do it, Sailor Moon!” she screamed, momentarily ceasing to fire flaming arrows into the monster. “Don’t you dare!” The blonde didn’t turn around, so Sailor Mars screamed her name in desperation.

She did turn then, revealing a calm smile. “Don’t worry, Rei. I’ll be fine.” She drew out the Crystal then, and Rei closed her eyes against its shining brilliance even as she screamed the other woman’s name.

When the brightness faded and her eyes reopened, Usagi Tsukino was lying on the ground as though sleeping, school uniform clean and white. Sailor Mars felt her transformation release as she surged forward, never reaching, never touching—

She woke from the nightmare in a cold sweat, face wet with hot tears.

–

Minako knew that, as the leader of the Senshi, there were many burdens she had to bear. Many sacrifices that she had to make—and she was willing to make them, without celebration, without reward. But she had never prepared to memorize the scream that ripped from Ikuko’s mouth when she heard the news, never could have been ready to relive that piercing wail in her quiet moments.

She had prepared for the death of every Senshi, notebooks full of preparations and plans just in case, and she had mourned each one in turn as she wrote, but Usagi’s notebook was comparatively bare. A part of her never wanted to believe that the Crystal would let her die, never let her leave them all alone, without their guiding light. And yet, fate was cruel and enjoyed her ironies.

There was an attack. The evil was defeated. But Usagi had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, had been hit by some rebounding blow, and she hadn’t survived. That was the official story. That was what she told the police through furious sobs, that was what they repeated to Usagi’s family as she watched their world crumble.

That was what she told herself in the mirror until her tongue went numb and she cracked the glass with her fist.

–

The insistent reminder buzzing snapped Ami from her frantic calculations, and she crossed the room to silence her phone. The funeral was in an hour; the research would have to wait, much as it pained her. She hadn’t slept in days and had been surviving off of water and protein bars, left by her mother with a note to get some rest. She ran a hand through her hair and found that it was greasy—showering hadn’t been a priority, either.

Even as she showered and dressed, her mind continued to race. How was this possible? What, exactly, had shattered the Crystal? Why didn’t Usagi come back? How did any of this make sense, given that they had seen the future—had their interactions created some unstable paradox, a timeline that couldn’t support their meddling? Pluto had never cautioned them about Chibiusa, but then, Pluto almost never spoke, so that wasn’t saying much.

But one question haunted her the most, one she could not answer within her mathematical analyses: what would they do now?

–

Makoto had only been to one funeral before, for her parents, and it had been a small ceremony. Closed-casket, since there was nothing left to bury. She remembered staring at the flower arrangements and listing off the different types because it kept her from screaming.

Usagi’s funeral was a lot larger, beloved as she was, but there were still flowers, and she found herself in the familiar position of examining the different types of flora, listing off their different meanings in her mind, trying to categorize an event that made no sense into something she could understand.

She noticed the dark splotches on the lap of her dress—no one had wanted to wear black, because Usagi had always been so full of life that it seemed wrong somehow, too dark for her light—before she realized that she had been crying. A tissue was silently pushed into her hand by Ami, and she dabbed at her eyes before crushing it in her fist.

The next time a monster came around, she wouldn’t let it win.


	2. Outer Senshi Vignettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the irregular updates. This summer was far more hectic than I anticipated.

“I’m going for a run.” The statement came suddenly, punching through the silence of their bedroom and disrupting the rare moment of peace between them, lying in bed and simply sharing one another’s warmth. Michiru sighed deeply as Haruka jumped from the bed, crossing to the closet to grab clothes. She was tempted to ask her lover to stay, but she knew that she would only be embracing a shell of the woman and not her spirit, which needed to run in some futile attempt to escape their new reality.

But each run had been taking longer, even as the weather grew colder, and she could see the pounds melting off of Haruka like heated wax. Michiru had tried to coax them back on with decadent chocolates, trips to the bakery—in a moment of desperation, she had even brought home a large selection of Taco Bell’s finest cheese-laden products. And Haruka had smiled a little each time, taken a few bites, and then declared herself stuffed. But Michiru knew that it was misplaced guilt choking her throat closed, not food, and it was taking its toll.

And for this, some part of her hated Usagi for having the nerve to die.

–

Her feet hit the pavement without their usual rhythm, with no real regard for pace, timing, or setting a personal record—just the need to feel some sense of the wind, of movement, for fear that if she remained still too long, she would forget. 

There were moments where she could almost feel the wind gathering at her command, forming into a ball of energy that would leave enemies breathless, but these moments came only when she ran. And so she ran, farther distances each time, chasing down the memory of a feeling that she would never have again, trying futilely to escape the guilt for surviving when Usagi did not.

Sailor Uranus had been nearly beaten that day. Her attacks were faltering as her strength drained, each burst driving back less and less of the monsters that came at her in dark waves. She had been using her Space Sword to cut down those who got too close, slashing with her right hand and dealing out attacks with her left simultaneously, but this had been wearing on her too quickly, and she was almost out of energy.

And then Eternal Sailor Moon had made the ultimate sacrifice, and the monsters vanished just as one slashed at her chest. Haruka could almost feel heat emanating from the long scar that crossed her torso with each breath. “Like a permanent reminder to wear your seat belt,” Minako had joked. No one had laughed.

Ten more seconds and she would have been a goner. Ten more seconds and the monsters would have scooped her heart out of its chest cavity; ten more seconds and she would have fallen in battle, never to get up again. But Usagi had made sure that she lived to see another day, even at the cost of her own life, even at the cost of their future happiness.

And so she ran.

–

Setsuna had expected to be pulled back to the Time Gate the moment that her transformation faded, back to an eternity of watching but never joining, serving penance for a crime she never committed. Her shock when she stood in civilian garb, surrounded by decimated buildings, was great and altogether foreign—she was, by nature of her knowledge, incredibly difficult to surprise.

Or she had been, when she still had a connection to the Time Gate.

Her link to its plane, with its many doorways in and out of timelines and existence, had been completely severed. A possibility that she had considered to be incredibly unlikely had come to pass, and now, all of her knowledge of the timeline they should have seen come to fruition was useless. Crystal Tokyo was an impossibility. Her dearest friend was not only gone, but had never technically been born in the first place; the memories of Chibiusa would fade away from all of them as the timeline shifted to correct its course.

Perhaps she would not forget, however. Setsuna didn’t believe she could erase the images of the crystal city rising from the Earth, of Usagi and Mamoru’s wedding day, of Chibiusa’s first visit, of the Senshi living beyond their years and dying peacefully as new soldiers rose to take their place. Perhaps her curse now was that she was to remain, and to remember, even as the others would never see the happiness that they were promised.

Her power to ascertain any aspect of their timeline had vanished, but she knew one thing for certain: she would have rather spent another thousand years at the Time Gate than wished to see the Senshi live without Usagi to hold them together.


	3. Ami and Michiru at Usagi's Grave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the start of this entire AU, and was spawned from a prompt generator spitting out "AMI and MICHIRU at a cemetery. Exploration and Broken." I recognize that this is extremely short, but as this was meant to be just a drabble (ha!), I wasn't going for length.

Ami crested the hill, bag in hand, and found that the grave she was aiming for already had a visitor, her teal hair blowing gently in the breeze.

Michiru did not turn around at her approach. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Ami quietly. _I didn’t know you cared about her at all, she did not say,_ but they both heard it regardless. Michiru did not respond, and Ami shifted her weight awkwardly. “I can come back.”

The head shook, wavy hair rippling gently with the movement. “That won’t be necessary. I was just preparing to leave.” She touched the headstone gently, the cold of the marble still tangible even through her leather gloves. “I was just dropping in for a moment, anyhow.”

“Why did you come?” Ami blurted out without thinking, clapping a hand to her mouth the moment she had said it. The bag she carried was trembling in her hands, and she realized that she was furiously angry. How _dare_ she pretend to care that all the light had gone out of the world. How _dare_ she visit her grave.

Michiru turned around then, and Ami was surprised to see that there was hurt in her eyes. “I didn’t realize that I had to make reservations in advance,” she replied haughtily. “Next time, I’ll be sure to phone ahead.”

With that, she drew her coat more tightly around herself and turned to go. “Michiru,” Ami said, and Michiru could hear her take a tentative step closer, footfalls crunching the frosted grass, “I’m sorry.” They both knew that she wasn’t, really, and the knowledge hung heavy between them.

“It would have been Haruka, you know. If Usagi hadn’t acted.” She didn’t turn around as she explained, opting instead to stare at the tiny line that represented an entire life. “I suppose I wanted to thank her.”

Ami nodded, but Michiru had already started to walk away, not pausing to look back. She noticed the small cardboard box too late—from a fancy French bakery that Michiru had treated Usagi to once, and they hadn’t heard the end of it for days.

“Well, it’s just you and me now,” Ami whispered, sitting down on the grass. She drew two sandwiches from her bag, laying one next to the bakery box, pulled out the manga that Usagi hadn’t lived to see end, and began to read aloud.


	4. Haruka, Makoto, and Michiru: A Fundamental Misunderstanding

She hadn’t been running for very long when she heard the scream, shrill and short, and her body automatically turned towards the source and ran in its direction. The unknown victim cried for help once more before she got there, then stopped crying out. _It’s never good when they go silent,_ she thought, pushing her body to run even faster, flying forward over grass and pavement, launching over a fence without slowing down.

Haruka had gotten so used to dealing with monsters that it could be easy to forget the real horrors were held within humanity, so she was taken aback for a moment when she stumbled upon the crime-in-progress and wasn’t met with an inhuman beast. No, the culprit here seemed to be a teenage male, knife in hand, insisting that his victim hand over her purse. Haruka could see blood on her forearm—she must have tried to fend him off, with little success, and she was now begging to keep the bag. “Please, I have a child,” the woman insisted, dark eyes welling with tears.

“Lady, I don’t give a shit. Hand it over before this gets worse for you.”

Haruka felt a growl in the back of her throat. “Hey asshole, why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?” That hadn’t come from her, and she turned to see Makoto glaring at the mugger, cracking her knuckles menacingly. She gave a nod of acknowledgment to Haruka, which the blonde returned, a tiny smile turning up the corner of her mouth.

The man laughed off the threat, but Haruka could see some uncertainty in his eyes at being double-teamed. “Get lost,” he snarled, turning back to his victim. But turning his back on the two of them was a massive mistake, and within minutes he was sufficiently beaten and decided to retreat. The would-be victim thanked them and left as well, so that just the two former Senshi remained.

“So, this is how you get your kicks now?” Haruka asked, dusting her hands on her athletic shorts.

Makoto nodded. “Been at it for a few weeks. It helps.” And she was right; Haruka felt energized, her knuckles raw, her heart racing. She felt more alive than she had since the last battle. Makoto could see it in the other woman, too, Haruka’s eyes sparkling in her wan face. She had never really forgiven the Outers for their treatment of Usagi, but she knew that what her friend had wanted most was for all of them to come together. Some part of her remembered this as she added, “This was it for tonight. I start every night at 8 and circle out from my apartment.”

Haruka smiled, a real smile, and ran her hands through her hair. “See you tomorrow, then.”

–

Michiru was certain that Haruka was having an affair.

She had been so happy a month ago, when Haruka came home energized, smiling as she popped a Hot Pocket in the microwave before kissing her hard, cheesy snack soon forgotten as they made their way upstairs. She hadn’t complained when her lover had disappeared the following night at 7:30, not returning until long after Michiru had gone to bed. She had commented, but Haruka simply said that the time alone was helping to clear her head, that she was tinkering on her old cars, that she needed to ease back into racing after her injury and she preferred it when the pavement was emptier. Michiru allowed this for a week before she made some calls, only to discover that Haruka had not been to the track since before their last fight, and that her car was sitting in the garage untouched.

And she came home so happy, smelling of roses and sugar, bruises and bite marks sometimes blossoming on her pale skin. She would still claim to be full at mealtimes, but the bones were once again being covered by muscle and tissue, and she looked better by the day. They hadn’t been intimate since that first night, despite Michiru’s many attempts—she was always too tired, she would say, before passing out until late the next morning.

Michiru hadn’t seen Haruka so happy in a long time, but she could no longer pretend that its source had anything to do with her. When she told Haruka of her upcoming concert series in America, which would see her gone for three weeks, the other woman had the decency to act as though she would be missed, but Michiru knew better. 

When she left for America, she left her ring in her vanity drawer. Perhaps she deserved to have some fun of her own.


	5. Rei, Minako, and Ami: Differences of Grief

Rei was still putting away stacks of manga, tossing out old wrappers, and generally tidying their study area when Minako showed up. “It’s not like you to be on time,” she noted, then glanced at her watch. “Or early. Have you _ever_ been early before?”

Minako shrugged noncommittally, tossing her backpack down onto the floor with a heavy _thud_. “Not doing much else, I guess.” _Besides living in my head, cursing myself eternally for being a shit general,_ she thought. “And besides, I live to show up at your house and torment you.” She winked at Rei before taking her place on one of the cushions, pulling out her phone and tapping at its buttons, not scrolling through any one app in particular, but desperate for any distraction.

Rei knew that look, the little bit of wildness in the eyes hiding beneath the calm exterior, like a deer that had been spooked and expected to be scared again, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. She recognized it so well because the same look haunted her mirror and stared back at her with flitting, dead eyes. _What more should you have done? How did you fail her?_ She shook her head, not wanting to entertain the thoughts any more than she already had been for the past—had it really been weeks? Time moved differently somehow when the center of your universe went missing, and she found that she needed to wear a watch, lest she get caught for hours drifting off into what-ifs and should-have-beens, neglecting necessary duties and functions. “Yeah, that does seem to be your specialty.”

The silence hung between them awkwardly for a few moments too long to be comfortable any more, Rei shifting her weight between her legs as Minako aimlessly tapped through her Instagram feed. “Do you, um, want anything? To drink, or to eat?”

Minako was tempted to retort back with what exactly she would be interested in eating, but shook her head a little, choosing to keep that one to herself. “I had no idea you could be so gracious, Rei. But I’m good.” She pulled on her bright pink bubblegum, stretching it out so that Rei noticed it. “See?” she asked between teeth clenched around the strand, before popping it all back in her mouth.

“Gross,” Rei muttered. “You better not put that under my table, Minako, I swear, I will—” Rei cut herself off before she said, “burn your ass up,” because she couldn’t exactly do that anymore, now could she? Her threat hung unfinished, but Minako knew well enough what the implication was, even if it no longer held the same weight.

If she were being cruel, she would challenge it. She could entice Rei so easily into a fight, the other woman caught up in the struggle before she even realized it had begun. She could picture the red of her cheeks, flushed with hot rage; she could see the flint ignite behind the dark eyes, ready to turn to ash anyone who dared question her; she could visualize with ease the heaving of her breasts between yells, each breath making them rise and fall rapidly— Her bubble popped in her face, sticking uncomfortably to her cheeks. “Not a problem,” she muttered out between picking the sticky remnants off her skin. Rei, thankfully, had turned around to tidy a stack of DVD’s and hadn’t noticed. Small miracles still existed even when the most miraculous thing in the world was dead, it seemed.

“Ami should be here by now. She’s always five minutes early.” Rei frowned, beginning to pace as she tapped her index finger to her teeth, and Minako had to fight not to get distracted by her lips. “I’m gonna call her, be right back.” Rei left then, presumably to grab her phone, and Minako sighed, leaning back on the floor and covering her eyes with the palms of her hands.

“This is not the time,” she whispered to herself, palms pressing against her eyeballs, creating galaxies behind her eyelids. And some part of her knew that it was too soon, that they would both just be looking for an excuse to take the pain away, a distraction from their overwhelming shame and grief, but how long did they have left? If Usagi could die, leaving their future completely uncertain, how long did they have to live, really? Would there be time to wait? 

“There has to be.” She took her hands off of her eyes and let them fall down at her sides, looking up at the white ceiling. “There _has_ to be.”

“You better not be sleeping,” Rei called as she reentered the room, and Minako grumbled back some assurance that she was, in fact, awake. “Ami isn’t answering. I called it off; Makoto said she was busy anyway. I want to go check on Ami, you coming or what?” 

Minako frowned; it wasn’t like Ami to be unreliable. She had been taking it hard, maybe harder than the rest of them, and Minako found that she couldn’t remember having talked to her in the past few days, too consumed in her own wallowing. She sat up, rolling her shoulders in a futile attempt to relieve some tension. “Yeah, let’s go.” A pause as she stood, opting to just leave her backpack there and come back for it later. “Should we text Mamoru?” It seemed like a wasted effort, really. He had been invited to their study sessions in some attempt to keep him from dealing with the loss alone, but he had sat in the corner, never saying a word, and Minako had noticed that he never turned the page of his textbook in the hour that he spent there. He had left with a half-hearted, “thanks,” and after that, he had politely declined every offer to hang out that had been extended his way. 

(There hadn’t been an abundance of offers, per se, but they had each reached out to him once, purely out of obligation. They all knew that Usagi would have wanted him to be welcomed into their group, but the connection didn’t really work without her there, and they all knew it. So when he stopped coming, no one was surprised.)

“I got it,” Rei replied, shooting off a quick notification that the study session had been cancelled. “Let’s go.”

The trip to Ami’s apartment was quiet. Rei kept trying to reach out psychically to connect with Ami, but it wasn’t doing much good. (She used to be able to sense each Senshi’s relative emotional state if she concentrated hard enough, but with Usagi gone, that bond had been severed, and now she couldn’t seem to reach out to them unless they were in the same room as her. The visions hadn’t stopped, though—if anything, they had gotten worse, mingling with her nightmares and reliving their last battle, blending into landscapes of horror and destruction, tangling past truths and future maybes until it was difficult to pick apart where one ended and the other began.)

When they reached the apartment, Rei was the first to knock, short and sharp. No reply came. “Ami, it’s Rei and Minako, you home?” She tried the handle. “Locked,” she muttered, considering the pros and cons for breaking down the door. Minako sighed and pulled a tiny case out of her pocket.

“Give me about a minute,” she muttered, kneeling down and inserting the tools into the apartment’s keyhole, carefully jiggling them. “What?” she asked in response to Rei’s indignant face. “Lock-picking kits are super cheap.”

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you know how to do that.” Minako wasn’t sure if that was meant as a compliment or an insult, so she concentrated on clicking the last tumbler instead of replying.

“Done!” she crowed triumphantly, turning the handle. The door opened easily, revealing a darkened entryway. The two tiptoed in, not wanting to break the silence of the apartment, both feeling a little out of place—they had never really spent time in Ami’s apartment before, and breaking in when she possibly wasn’t home seemed like an awkward way to start. The kitchen was empty, as was the living room, so they together walked towards Ami’s bedroom. The door was open just a crack, revealing some light coming from within, and Minako pushed it open.

The contrast between the clean and basic outer rooms of the apartment and Ami’s room was startling. The floor was covered in books and papers, and some stacks of books teetered precariously, piled too high on top of one another. Her bed, too, was covered in papers, the sheets pushed against the wall, presumably to make more room for the carefully laid out research, each page covered in Ami’s tiny handwriting. The trash can was overflowing with nutrition bar wrappers, and what looked like every mug in the house sat next to it, some still with tea inside, one or two looking suspiciously like they had gone moldy. 

All of this was taken in rapidly, leading to the discovery of Ami. She was slumped over onto her desk, large headphones over her ears, still holding a pen in her hand. Her head rested on her laptop, which was quietly humming and added an eerie blue glow to the room. For a moment, Minako was sure that she was dead.

But then Rei shook her, perhaps a little harder than was appropriate, and she stirred. Her eyes opened blearily, but then shot open at once, and she jumped back into a sitting position. The headphones were torn off as her eyes, bloodshot and wide, darted back and forth between her friends. “What’s wrong? Why are you here?” she asked, almost accusatorily.

“You missed our study session,” Rei replied, cautious, but with a little acid in her tone. 

Ami frowned. “It’s Monday?” She glanced at her laptop, which seemed to confirm the date. “I’ve been so caught up…” Her hand gestured feebly to the disaster scene currently serving as her room before covering her mouth, embarrassed. “I’m sorry you had to see it like this.”

Minako waved her hand, batting the suggestion out of the air. “Man, my room looks like this literally every day, it’s no big deal.” She was busy taking in the details of Ami’s appearance—her hair almost looked slick with greasiness; her face was pale and gaunt; her fingers and legs kept twitching; her red, watery eyes never stopped moving. “Ami, when’s the last time you ate?”

Ami ran her hand through her hair. “I’m sure it wasn’t that long ago…” The sentence trailed off, and it was unspoken knowledge that she probably hadn’t eaten in days. 

“Let’s order pizza,” Rei suggested, “I know a new place that has a really good deal as part of their opening promotions!” She pulled out her phone to dial, but Ami shook her head.

“Thank you, but I really need to get back to my work.”

Rei’s face fell, and she turned to Minako, who was staring at the complex diagram of papers scattered all over the bed. “You can’t bring her back, Ami.” Minako’s fist clenched, hard enough that the nails began to pierce her palm. “We—we have to keep going.”

“I can’t bring her back, but Minako, we know the Goddess of Time—maybe we could make it so that this never happened in the first place, if there was a way to adjust the timeline back to its original state, because this is _not_ what we were supposed to have happen, we very clearly got a glimpse into our future, and now it’s created a paradox—”

“We know that, Ami,” Rei retorted, trying and failing to keep her voice level, “but nothing can bring her back, nothing except that fucking Crystal, and I saw it shatter—”

“It shattered before, and she was always able to repair it—”

“Enough,” Minako whispered, and she felt her face grow wet. “ENOUGH!” The scream stopped both of them from their bickering, and she didn’t remove her eyes from the bed, the blue pen blurring behind her tears. “This isn’t what she would have wanted.” She looked directly at Ami then. “You can’t bring her back, Ami. She wouldn’t have wanted you to die trying.”

The blonde turned towards the door and squeezed past Rei to exit, muttering, “See you later,” under her breath as she did. As she left, she didn’t look back.

Ami cleared her throat and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “You know, Rei,” she offered up timidly, “pizza actually does sound pretty good.”


	6. Haruka and Minako: Mistakes were Made

It was only a matter of time before one of them fucked up.

Haruka had been meeting Makoto in the evenings for a few months, fighting crime in the only way she was capable of now, and things had been going well. Sure, they both ended up with some bruises and sprains, but nothing too serious. They both seemed to still heal a little faster than the average person, so these minor injuries were doing nothing to slow down their progress. Haruka felt more at peace than she had since before Usagi died, gaining confidence in the fact that she could still do something even without being a Senshi.

But word had gotten around to the bottom-level criminals of two women who beat up low-level offenders, leaving them to reflect on their crimes, and the criminals adapted. They had been getting stronger and faster, and there were more of them at a time. Makoto and Haruka had been dealing successfully, though, excited to take on the increased challenge.

It had been a routine sweep of the neighborhood, canvassing for any seedy activity, where everything had gone wrong. There had been three perps beginning to assault a victim, and the women had jumped into action immediately, consumed with subduing the criminals. 

She was so busy going hand-to-hand with her opponent that Haruka didn’t hear the person who had snuck up behind her. She didn’t hear the click of the safety on the gun. 

She just heard the _boom_ as the trigger was pulled.

–

Minako was cursing out her team online, infinitely frustrated at their lack of ability to coordinate strategy, when she saw the call come through from Makoto. She listened to the other woman for a few seconds before punching in the power button on her computer and running downstairs. She never liked to ask her parents for rides, preferring to rely on them as little as possible, but she knew that it would take her a half hour to walk to the hospital, and she needed to be there much, much sooner.

The hospital smelled like antiseptic and latex, and her nose wrinkled. Haruka’s room also had the strong smell of blood, and she grabbed the wall to ground herself, the scent almost taking her back to battles past. Haruka was asleep on the bed, no doubt knocked out by the copious amounts of morphine that the nurses explained was in her system. Her face was pale and covered in a light sheen of sweat, and every few minutes, she moaned quietly under her breath.

There was a noticeable dent in the bedsheets where her right calf should have been. Would have been, until a few hours ago. Turns out that taking a shotgun to the back of the leg didn’t leave much for the doctors to put back together, so they had opted to amputate above the knee. With time, the nurse had explained to Minako, she would walk again, and probably even run (with the right prosthetic).

Minako had texted Michiru out of necessity rather than kindness and was assured that the other woman was on the first flight back to Japan from the United States, but declined to answer specific questions about the injury other than that Haruka would be all right. Makoto had explained to her on the phone what they had been doing when she was shot, but Minako wasn’t going to explain it to Michiru. She wasn’t even sure if Michiru would believe her.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Minako whispered vehemently, feeling the tears fall from her eyes onto the tile floor. She received no response but the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and Haruka’s uneven breathing.


	7. Michiru, Minako, and Haruka: Reunions and Realizations

“I came as soon as I could,” Michiru whispered icily to Minako, having been barred from the door by the blonde woman. “It is a fourteen-hour flight in ideal conditions, and if you have any way I could have made the plane fly faster, I am eager to hear it.” There was uncharacteristic strain in her voice, and tiny shadows were present under her eyes. Minako didn’t budge, even as Michiru went to move past her. “Really, I cancelled the rest of my American tour for this. I’m not sure the origins of your discontent, but I demand to see her.”

Minako spread her arms wide and set her jaw firmly. “I’m not letting you.”

Michiru refrained delicately from rolling her eyes, moving to push aside the affronting arm, only to be stopped by the younger woman’s hand clasping around her wrist. Minako’s voice was surprisingly gentle as she added, “Michiru, she doesn’t want to see you.”

Michiru huffed a little. “That’s ridiculous. Whatever notion she’s gotten into her mind about keeping herself from me, no doubt fashioned via copious painkillers, is ridiculous.” She snapped the wrist backward, breaking Minako’s grip. “Now, please excuse me,” she ground out, voice like fine china scraping against polished silver. She entered the hospital room—private, thankfully—and noticed the empty bed. Haruka was sitting in a wheelchair next to the window, back turned to the entryway.

“You shouldn’t have come,” she stated without turning around. “I want you to go home.”

“Haruka,” came the measured retort, “I have cancelled all engagements for the coming weeks. I took the first flight home immediately, and I have been worried sick for the past fifteen hours. I am not going home until I get the chance to see that you are all right.” She stepped forward, heels clacking lightly on the tile. “Now please, turn around so that we may talk.”

Haruka fiddled with the blanket in her lap, adjusting it slightly, before turning the chair around. She looked tired and pale, but very much unharmed, and Michiru let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had kept in for the past fifteen hours. “What do you want to talk about, Michi?” The nickname stung Michiru in ways she hadn’t expected, and she wondered idly if Haruka’s lover had already been by.

“Perhaps for starters you would be kind enough to explain how you were injured. I’m afraid Minako was less than forthcoming.” Her lips twisted into a small scowl, remembering the extremely brief text she had received—“Come home ASAP. Haruka’s hurt.”—with no replies afterwards to elaborate.

Haruka’s eyes stared into her own. “I was driving.” Her hands continued to twist the blanket, wringing it tightly under her grip.

Michiru crossed to the bed and sat primly upon it, now only a few feet away from the other woman. “Haruka, I had wished to think that we were past untruths in our relationship. If there is something you need to confess to, I think that now is the time. I assure you, I can handle it.”

“It’s stupid,” came the resounding mutter. When Michiru didn’t press the silence, Haruka sighed deeply, eyes glancing downwards to her lap. “After- after everything happened, I wasn’t- I couldn’t enjoy anything the same any more. She took the light out of the world with her,” Haruka whispered, tears forming in her eyes. Taking in a ragged breath, she forced herself to keep going, gaze cast firmly downward now. “I ran into Makoto fighting off some guys. So her and I started going out, getting at the criminals, doing what we could. I thought- I don’t know. It made me feel almost like it used to.”

“You- you were going out with Makoto?” Michiru’s voice was a little shaky as her right hand raised to her mouth, realization crushing her. The smell of sugar and roses, her lack of appetite, the late-night disappearances, the bruises… 

It appeared that Haruka had either not heard her or was ignoring her entirely, too focused on her own story. “I didn’t hear the guy behind me. And- and he did this.” She pried loose her fingers from the blanket to move it to the side, revealing the stump where her right leg now ended. “I’m such an idiot,” she growled, hands slamming against her thighs.

Michiru’s mouth was dry, memories flashing in her mind of the past week, her knowledge that Haruka was having an affair solid enough that she had engaged in several of her own. “Perhaps you’re not the only one.”


	8. Makoto and Haruka (with Minako, Michiru, and Rei): Apologies

Makoto hadn’t been to visit Haruka since the incident. They had kept her in the hospital for a few days, mostly, Minako had confided, to monitor her mental state before releasing her. She had been fitted with a temporary prosthetic, Minako had babbled on, finger dipping quickly into the icing Makoto was mixing, and she was walking okay on it, stumbling less and less each day. Makoto had lightly hit the other woman’s hand with the back of her spoon, chastising for her theft, but said nothing. She finished decorating the personal cake, adding little sugar flowers to brighten up the chocolate frosting.

“If it doesn’t get to her in one piece, I’ll kick your ass, Mina,” Makoto vowed, boxing up the cake and tying a ribbon on it. Minako nodded her assent, chatter never ceasing, although now thankfully talking about some celebrity she followed on Instagram. Makoto breathed a sigh of relief when the blonde left, cake tucked under her arm, and then immediately felt guilty. She knew that her friend was just trying to make her feel better, but the incessant talking had just given her a headache.

The brunette slumped onto her couch, pulling a pillow into her lap and hugging it tightly. She had been sending Haruka different treats, all of her favorites, by way of the other girls for the past week. It was a shitty way of apology—hey, sorry I got your leg blown off and ruined your life, here’s a cookie!—but it was all that she could think of doing. She wasn’t ready to go see her yet; she had no idea what she was supposed to say. And besides, she reasoned, Haruka probably wouldn’t want to see her anyway. After all, it had been her stupid idea that had gotten her hurt.

A sharp trio of raps on her door made her head jerk up. There were little tear stains on the pillow, and she tossed it aside as she crossed to the door, making sure to dry her eyes on the way over. She unlocked the deadbolt and then opened it. “Took you long enough,” Rei muttered, huffing in the way that Makoto knew was mostly an act. She breezed through the doorway and crossed to sit on the couch. Michiru was much demurer in her entrance, nodding at her and assenting her thanks before gracefully moving to where Rei sat and perching next to her.

Makoto closed the door and turned around, feigning a polite smile. “Can I offer either of you some tea?”

“No thank you, I’m afraid I can’t stay,” Michiru replied airily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Rei similarly declined, and Makoto crossed to sit down, every step filling her with dread. She sank into a chair and felt her eyes flicker back and forth between the two women.

“Mako,” Rei began, “you’ve been hiding yourself away, and we’re tired of it. You need to see her sometime, you know.”

“I’m going to! I’ve just been busy.” The excuse felt lame as soon as it left her mouth. “Anyway, I don’t think she wants to see me.”

“I understand that you’ve resigned yourself to wallowing, and I’m not certain that I blame you.” Michiru crossed her legs primly at the ankles and leaned forward slightly. “Haruka has been similarly upset, as I’m sure you can imagine. She insists on blaming herself for ruining your little plays at being superheroes, and she is convinced that you are upset with her.”

“That’s ridiculous! It was a stupid idea anyway, we never should’ve—”

Michiru held up a small palm, and Makoto fell silent. “I share that sentiment. However, I am incapable of convincing her that you are not angry with her, and I’m afraid that your gifts have done little to assuage her guilt.” She paused and took in a breath, eyes staring at a point past Makoto’s head. “I don’t make it a habit to ask for favors, but for Haruka, I am willing to make an exception. And so, I must implore you to come and speak with her.”

Makoto swallowed thickly, hands twiddling with her skirt. She glanced back and forth between Rei and Michiru, and found that neither was willing to yield. “I don’t get a choice here, do I?” She felt a short chuckle bloom up from within her, bitter as dark chocolate. “Fine, I’ll come over.”

–

The tall woman’s feet shifted nervously underneath her as she hesitated outside of the bedroom door. She had been trying to plan out what she was going to say the whole way over, even as Rei attempted to change the subject, but she hadn’t gotten any closer to an acceptable apology. “Get a grip,” she whispered to herself, clenching her fists. She had faced horrific monsters, she had run headfirst into certain death. She could handle this.

And then her hands pushed open the door, and she saw Haruka sitting in bed, massaging her amputated leg, and she thought that maybe she wasn’t ready for this after all.

Haruka swung the sheet over her leg, cheeks reddening. “I didn’t expect you, sorry.” A pregnant pause sat between them, filling the air with awkward silence. “The doctors say that rubbing it is supposed to help. Or something.” She was just trying to fill the air with noise, and Makoto knew it, but she nodded anyway.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “The whole idea was stupid— _I_ was stupid—and I never wanted this to happen. And I’m sorry,” she finished lamely. When a response didn’t immediately come, she began to edge backwards towards the exit. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.”

“Wait.” Makoto’s hand fell from the door. “It’s not your fault. It’s my fault, really. Didn’t hear the guy.” She shifted on the bed, then ran her hands through her hair. “Have you still been going?”

Makoto shook her head as she replied, “No. Not since that last time.” _It wasn’t the same,_ she thought, remembering how she had found herself dressed to patrol, then turned away from the door and instead spent her evening baking.

Haruka bobbed her head. “You can, you know. It’s not like I can join you.” She gestured to her leg, and the hollow space it once took up on the bed sent a pang through Makoto’s chest.

Her ponytail swayed back and forth with the force of her head shaking. The silence stretched between them again, acres of it separating the space. “You know,” she said lowly, “I used to hate you. Like, really, really hate you.” Haruka didn’t move or show any surprise at this revelation, and Makoto smiled. “Guess that wasn’t subtle. But after you guys stopped being complete assholes to us”— _because of Usagi,_ came the unbidden thought, and her voice caught a little—“I realized you weren’t the worst person ever.” She realized that this was shaping up to be perhaps the world’s worst pep talk, and her hands clenched into fists with frustration, with the desire to fix the problem without any words at all. “Anyway. It could have been me just as easy. It’s not your fault.”

Haruka finally looked up at her, a small smile tugging at her face. “You’re just still mad I beat you.”

Makoto scowled, but there was some playfulness behind it. “That wasn’t a fair fight!”

From downstairs, Michiru and Rei, sipping delicately at their Pinot, heard the shouts, and could just make out that they had determined an arm-wrestling competition to be necessary.

“Well, I think that went well,” Rei supplied, swirling her wine in the way she had noted Michiru do before taking a sip.

“I certainly hope so.” Michiru’s glass was half-empty as she raised it to her lips.


	9. Minako and Michiru: Consequences

The door opened soundlessly, Michiru standing behind it. Before she had the chance to say anything, Minako spoke. “I know why you told Rei to make a move.”

Michiru’s eyebrow raised slightly, and she made no move to either open or close the door. “I’m fascinated, truly, but I’m rather held up right now, so if you’ll excuse me.” The phrase was not a request, and the door began to shut. Minako stuffed her hand in the crack and shoved it open, causing Michiru to jump backwards to get out of her way. She slammed the door behind her, then stalked past Michiru to glance into the living room, which Haruka had been using as a makeshift bedroom while the elevator was being installed.

“She’s not here, right?” Minako whirled around, hair slicing through the air like her chain used to, and fixed Michiru with a firm stare. “Don’t lie.”

Michiru did not look away. “Haruka is currently at a physical therapy session. I expect her to return within the hour. I would be happy to tell her that you called upon her.” She turned back towards the door, moving to open it and usher out her unwanted guest. But Minako was faster, and lunged in front of her path, placing her back on the door and blocking it.

“Oh, I’m not here for her. I’m here for you, Michiru.” She was barely holding back the urge to attack the other woman, and the shaking in her voice made this all too clear.

“And to what, pray tell, do I owe this honor?” she asked, careful to weave just enough curiosity into her tone, to crinkle her eyebrows slightly as she crossed her arms. While she had lost much of her Seeing ability after their last battle, it didn’t take a fortune-teller to know what Minako had discovered. It just took someone who knew better than to underestimate the battle-hardened general that hid behind a giggly façade.

“Oh, I feel like you know.” Michiru said nothing in response, and Minako let out what could almost be considered a growl as she stalked forward, moving until she was nearly touching Michiru, looking up into placid blue eyes. “You cheated on her, didn’t you?”

“That’s a rather baseless accusation, and I have no interest in entertaining it.” Michiru _tsk_ -ed lightly, turning away and heading into the living room. She didn’t meet Minako’s eyes, opting instead for tidying Haruka’s temporary bed, fluffing the pillows and smoothing the comforter.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, you and I both know that you’re lying.” Minako crossed deliberately in front of Michiru and sat down heavily on the bed, intentionally undoing the tidying that she had just completed. She began to tick off on her fingers as she listed her evidence. “One, Haruka starts disappearing every fucking night, and I _thought_ she was with _you_ , but now that I know she wasn’t, I can’t imagine what you would assume. Two, all of a sudden, you up and go to America on this tour, when you haven’t toured in what, five years? And so soon after—” she still couldn’t bring herself to say it “—after _what happened_ , leaving Haruka alone when you knew she wasn’t over it. Three, you tell Rei to make a move on me, which I almost want to thank you for, but won’t since I realize you were trying to distract me so I wouldn’t notice the guilt that’s tattooed all over your fucking face.”

The ability to infer so much from so little and then use it to annihilate the enemy had always made Venus a brilliant general, and Michiru could almost see the gold gleaming from her eyes. Those eyes drilled into her, and the heat from her stare was almost palpable. “Do you deny it?”

“I’m afraid I can’t.” Her voice was low, and for the first time that Minako could remember, she lowered her gaze to stare into her lap. Her right hand absentmindedly held her left, fingers dancing over the engagement and wedding rings worn there, playing a silent symphony on the platinum bands. “I assumed, wrongly, that she had taken a lover, and I was too foolish to simply ask.” Her eyes raised again to meet Minako’s, and they were glistening a little. “I am not proud of these transgressions. And you can be assured that they will not happen again.”

“Small comfort,” she retorted bitterly. The silence stretched, long and still. “You know I have to tell her.”

“I know that you _want_ to tell her; however, I am imploring you to not do so.” Minako tried to interject, but Michiru held up her hand and continued. “I am going to tell her myself, you see. But I’m afraid that, if I do so now, given the recent loss of her leg, it may harm her irreparably.”

“Maybe you should have thought about harming her _before_ you fucked other people.” 

Michiru let out a short humorless laugh. “Perhaps. And yet I cannot change what is done, Minako.” She breathed in deeply. “I’m not asking you to hold back on my account, but rather on hers. I think that once she can walk on her own a little—the doctors say a few weeks more, at most—her spirits may be improved enough that she will be able to recover from this knowledge.”

Minako frowned. She couldn’t exactly blame Michiru; Haruka was brooding and sullen in the best of circumstances, and given the shitty turn her life had taken lately, it wasn’t a crazy thought to wonder if she would crumble under another terrible incident. She rose and started crossing back to the door. 

“You have two weeks. Then _I’m_ telling her.”

Michiru rose and nodded. “I appreciate you taking her best interests into consideration.”

Having reached the door, Minako yanked it open harshly. “Fuck. You.” She enunciated clearly over her shoulder, before slamming the door hard enough to make the antique stained glass insert rattle.

Now that she was alone, Michiru fell into the nearest chair and placed her head in her hands. She almost missed the days when all that she had to worry about was the impending doom of their universe, brought down by some unknown terror from another world. “But all the monsters are human now,” she mused to herself quietly.

The slight whirring noise made by the garage door raising stirred her from her thoughts. She quickly checked her reflection in a nearby mirror, dabbing at some misplaced mascara, before moving to greet her returned wife, pretending for just a little while longer that she deserved her love.


	10. Ami and Setsuna; Mamoru: Beginnings and endings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the specific trigger warning of suicide; please proceed accordingly, and if you need to skip the ending of this chapter, you'll be able to figure out the events from the next one.

“May I join you?”

Ami was startled out of reading Einstein’s theory of relativity for perhaps the hundredth time (but this time in the original German, just in case the translations to Japanese and English she had read had left out some detail, a small mistranslation that could mean _everything_ ) by the warm, low voice.

“Setsuna! Of course you can.” Setsuna dipped her head slightly in thanks before sliding into the booth across from her, primly placing her teacup in a small opening where the surface was not covered by research. “I’ve just been doing some reading.” She smiled weakly, realizing the mass understatement.

“Yes, I see that.” Her eyes darkened as she scanned over the book titles and notes in front of her, picking up a piece of paper covered in complex equations before gently setting it back down. She shook her head lightly. “Ami. You need to stop this.”

“I’m just doing some research.” The smile plastered onto her face felt thick and stiff, water slowly forming into ice.

Setsuna’s eyes became sharp and hardened as though she was back on the battlefield. “Is that truly all?” She shook her head slightly, olive hair rippling with the movement, and she delicately picked up her teacup to take a sip. “I don’t believe you.”

The iced-over smile melted with the sudden flush of hot blood that rushed to her cheeks. “I’m just -” she cut herself off before she lied again, knowing it would do no good “- I’m just seeing if there’s anything that I can do. That _we_ can do.” She had hoped that the emphasis of their unity would spur Setsuna into helping her cause, but her face remained impassive, and she said nothing.

Ami found that she couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling out, and she explained animatedly, hands flitting with the passion of her words, that since they now existed in a paradox, there _must_ be a way to right it, and it was their duty to figure out how. She finished short of breath from her rapid-fire speaking and with tears in her eyes, a mixture of absolute determination and a grief that she refused to allow to surface, because she would fix it so that there was never a reason to grieve in the first place.

Setsuna listened patiently, never once interrupting, only moving to occasionally sip at her drink. When Ami’s monologue ceased, she replied in a carefully measured tone, “Ami. What you hope for is impossible. Believe me, if it were not, I would have already brought us together. But I -" her hands clasped tightly together as she said, for the first time aloud “- have lost my connection to the Time Gate.” She ignored Ami’s gasp and continued, eyes lowered to gaze into her empty teacup. “I cannot travel back. I cannot see the paths of Time any more as I once did. And so, I have no hope of changing what has already been done.”

“But – but – _how_?” Ami desperately asked, the reality of their situation finally sinking in.

“There are an infinite number of timelines, Ami,” she explained, trying to parse the vast complexities of Time into words fit for human language, “and an infinite number of futures. What you all saw was the most _likely_ future. There were some where the Great Freeze ended the Earth, and Crystal Tokyo never came to be. There were others where it flourished. In some, the Black Moon Clan triumphed; in others, they never existed because Neo-Queen Serenity offered a different punishment, or no punishment at all. And in a few select timelines, Sailor Moon died in battle.”

Setsuna’s voice did not shake. She would not allow it. “I admit that the probability of events that transpired was low, and I’m afraid I can’t quantify the probabilities because there are too many to even fathom.” _And yet, I could once fathom them all,_ she added in her mind bitterly. “I admit also that, because the probability was so infinitesimal, and the likelihood of the future that you witnessed so great, I did not extensively research the aftereffects of Usagi’s death.” The corners of her mouth turned up into a wry smile. “If I am being honest with you, I didn’t want to explore it, and I neglected my duty.”

Ami sat, saying nothing, reeling in quiet shock. There were tears running down her face, but she made no move to wipe them away. “She… she’s really gone?” The question at the end of her sentence made Setsuna’s heart ache, and she nodded, her own eyes beginning to glisten.

“She’s dead, yes. There is no changing that. But we still love her, Ami, and love from afar is still a powerful kind of love.” She thought of millennia alone at a door, knowing her comrades in so many incarnations simply through watching them and longing to be among them, to be human in a way she did not yet understand. And now, she understood too well, and some part of her was shamefully grateful for the chance to _live_ rather than _observe_. “Love from afar is powerful enough to outlast even death.”

She rose out of the booth and gently placed a hand on Ami’s shoulder. “Take care.” And with that, she walked away, the bell over the coffee shop door tinkling upon her exit. Ami did not move for several minutes, her tears falling onto her notes, the ink running down the page. Her phone buzzed, and instinctively she fished it out of her pocket.

MAKOTO: Hosting a movie night bc I got distracted and made too much fucking cake again. You in?

AMI: On my way.

The phone tucked away once more, she looked at the table in front of her. Countless hours of research, of reading until her eyes simply refused to stay open, of writing until her hand cramped so much that she had to use a voice-to-text program to supplement, laid in front of her.

She scooped it all up in a heaping armful, stood up, and dumped it into the trash can. As she walked away, she didn’t look back.

–

Mamoru hadn’t left his apartment in days. Everywhere he went, there was some reminder of her: a necklace she would have cooed over, a new unicorn-themed dessert she would have begged him to try, a bench where they could have sat and watched the world go by, never dreaming that they would face it alone. He saw her everywhere, haunting him, and there were moments he still forgot that she wasn’t around, still went to Snapchat her a bird with a piece of pizza in its mouth before remembering that the account was closed, still called just to hear her voicemail message. He had read through their texts so much that he had most of them memorized. He had slept with a hoodie that she had left behind just to pretend she was there, just to close his eyes and smell her, as though he could wake up from this nightmare and she would smile at him.

The girls had tried to reach out, but seeing them without her just felt _wrong_ somehow. Motoki had come by a few times to check on him and drop off food, but he was planning for his upcoming wedding and Mamoru couldn’t quite control his jealousy. When he told Motoki that he was honored, but he couldn’t accept Best Man because he wouldn’t be able to attend the wedding, they had gotten into a fight. 

Motoki had accused him of being selfish, of wallowing, of dishonoring Usagi’s memory by refusing to be happy. A part of him knew that the accusations were right, but he lashed out anyway, screaming at Motoki to get out of his house. He couldn’t understand how to live in a world without Usagi, and as the door slammed shut, he realized that he didn’t want to.

He spent the next few days getting his affairs in order. He donated all of his money to charity, minus just enough to cover cremation. He cleaned his apartment immaculately and got rid of almost all of his possessions. He wrote notes to the people who mattered, sometimes taking several drafts to get the phrasing just right, and left them sealed on his kitchen counter.

The photo of Usagi, one of his favorites, grinned at him as he adjusted his tuxedo in the mirror. He couldn’t transform any more, but he was sure that she wouldn’t miss the mask and cape. He sprayed on a little of the expensive cologne she always said she loved so much, smiling as he remembered when he had caught her spritzing some on a t-shirt to take home so that she could wear it and smell like him.

He took one last sweeping glance of his apartment, now bare of all except furniture, and double-checked that his app was set correctly to send a message in a half hour to Motoki to call the police to his apartment. 

“Let’s go on a date, Usako,” he whispered as he climbed onto the chair. “I’m sorry I’ve kept you waiting.” He slipped the belt around his neck. “I’ll make it up to you. I promise.”

“I love you.” He closed his eyes.


	11. Minako and Rei; Rei and Michiru: Misguided blame

“Hey, where were you last night? You didn’t answer my calls.” Rei’s tone was equal parts curious and accusatory, her eyes meeting Minako’s in the mirror as she dabbed on foundation.

Minako put down the brush, satisfied with her coverage, and replied nonchalantly. “Oh, just hanging out with Haruka.” Her fingers wiggled over the selections for a moment before plucking a peach blush out of the pile of makeup and dabbing it onto her cheeks.

“Mina, you’re never away from your phone, even with Haruka.” Both of their eyes flicked to the phone, currently sitting on the counter directly in front of Minako, silently proving Rei’s statement. “Is something wrong? Is she okay?”

The blush snapped shut and she tossed it back onto the counter before turning around and sighing. She had hoped that she could keep this away from Rei for just a _little_ longer, but, as she had suspected, that was clearly going to be impossible. _Better to just get it over with,_ she thought before blurting out: “Michiru left. She cheated on Haruka while she was touring in America.”

“Wait, _what_? Why would she do that? Michiru loves Haruka. She wouldn’t do that to her. She _wouldn’t_.” Rei’s face began to heat up, angered over the accusations levied towards her friend.

Minako crossed to the bed and plopped down next to Rei. “She thought Haruka was cheating when she was out with Mako, so instead of fucking _asking_ , she went to America and probably slept with half of the women on the continent.” She shifted uncomfortably, tucking a foot beneath her. “And I found out, so I told her she had to tell the truth. And she did, last night, and then she left, so Ruka was a massive fucking mess. Still is, probably. I was gonna go check on her when she gets home from the doctor.”

Rei shook her head, black hair rippling like an oil slick, catching the light in a way that made Minako’s breath catch despite the subject of conversation. “Wait, back up. Are you sure? Like, _really_ sure?”

She nodded in response. “I was pretty fucking sure before I talked to her, and then when I asked she admitted it. So yeah, I’m sure.” Her eyes stared at a small crack in the plaster wall, not really seeing it, the flaw blurring into nonexistence in her blank stare.

“Was Michiru going to tell her?”

“I don’t think so. She definitely didn’t plan on it when I asked.”

Rei stood up. “So you _made_ her tell.” She crossed her arms accusatorily.

“Yeah, I _made_ her,” she shot back, standing up to match Rei, not willing to be looked down on by someone else for her decisions. “What, was I just supposed to ignore it? Let Michiru keep lying, let Haruka believe her, until it eventually came out and ruined their fucking lives?”

“It’s _already_ ruined their lives, you can’t say they’re happy —”

“Better than ten years from now, when they’ve got kids and shit —”

“You should have just let it go —”

“Oh, _that’s_ rich,” she exploded, throwing her arms in the air. “You, of _all people_ , telling me to ‘let it go’? You couldn’t even fucking _kiss_ me because you felt so guilty about Usagi.”

“That’s _different_!” Rei shouted back, hands balled into fists at her sides. “That’s me losing my best friend, having it be my fault, not me deciding to just mess with her life!”

Minako laughed bitterly. “You think that’s _your_ fault?” Her head was cast downwards, and when she lifted it, tears were streaming down her face. “ _You_ weren’t the one who sent her into battle. You weren’t her general, her commander; you didn’t tell her to go to the front lines instead of hide.” She inhaled sharply before whispering, barely loud enough for Rei to hear, “ _You_ weren’t the one who told her to use the Crystal if it was necessary.”

Rei stumbled back as if she had been punched. Her vision went blurry as her eyes filled with tears. “But you knew. You _knew_ it could kill her,” she half-whispered, voice shaking.

She nodded. “I did.” Rei wasn’t even looking at her now; her eyes were unfocused, darting wildly around the room. “We were losing. Mercury did the calculations. There was _no way_ we could win. Not without the Crystal. And those things were strong enough to take over the entire world. Kill every human, every animal, every _child_ , until our planet was just as dead as theirs.

“I knew the risks. So did she. And I made a call to stop them before we died and the world was left defenseless. And then she died anyway.” Rei still winced when she mentioned it, but Minako didn’t pause. “If you want to blame someone for Usagi, blame me. You want to blame someone for our resident lesbians possibly divorcing, blame me.”

Rei shook her head. “I could have stopped her.” She rubbed her eyes, hands coming away covered in mascara streaks.

Minako looked around for a second before tossing a shirt from the floor to Rei. “S’dirty, go ahead.” Rei grabbed the shirt and wrinkled her nose a little, but dabbed some of the mascara off of her face nonetheless. Taking a cautious step towards her, Minako gently took the shirt and tenderly dabbed a spot of black that Rei had missed. Her voice was quiet now, almost soothing, as she met Rei’s eyes. “No one could stop her, Rei. We all tried at one point or another, and we all failed every time. She never did listen well.” Her mouth turned up a little into a smile.

“She really was an idiot,” Rei sniffled, her own smile on her face. It disappeared as her forehead crinkled. “Are they really divorcing?”

“I don’t know. Fuck, I hope not. Michiru gave her the papers, but that might’ve just been her being dramatic. Lesbians always have the most drama,” she teased, and Rei stuck out her tongue in response. “I really don’t want them to split. I figured if Michiru told her early, and told her _herself_ , that might say enough for Haruka to forgive her.”

Rei’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You want them to get back together? I thought you _hated_ Michiru.”

“Oh, I do. Especially after this stunt. But I want Haruka to be happy, and I’m pretty sure that means the two of them working something out. Haruka’s gotta get there on her own though, I can’t push it too hard.” Glancing at Rei’s watch, she jumped up a little. “Shit, I wanted to be there when she got home.”

She nodded. “Go. I’ll check on Michiru. She’s probably not doing great either.”

“Okay.” She slipped on her shoes and grabbed her keys off of the hook next to her door. Her hand paused on the doorknob, and she let go to turn around. “Will I see you tonight?” she asked. _Do you hate me now?_ was the unsaid question in her voice.

“Yeah, you will,” came the answer. _I could never hate you._

Minako smiled and walked out, leaving Rei to pick up her phone and punch in a familiar number. She ambled around the small apartment while she listened to the ringing, searching for her other sock in the small piles of detritus that lined Minako’s space. Michiru picked up after five rings, her voice slightly groggy. “Rei?”

“Hey, Michiru.” She spotted her sock on a stack of notebooks and snatched it victoriously. “I just heard about—well, _everything_ —and I wanted to see how you were doing. Or if you needed anything?” It came out as a question even though she had not meant it to; Michiru had never expressed _needing_ things.

“I don’t –” Rei could hear her clearing her throat away from the receiver. “I don’t _need_ anything, thank you, I am—that is to say, I _will be_ —fine. Like a fine china, or perhaps a delicate crystal. Just fine.” She laughed a little watery giggle, her words slurring just slightly.

“Michiru, are you _drunk_?” Rei had never seen her get past slightly tipsy, and even then, she had been incredibly composed.

“Hmm. Quite a proposal. I would wager that there is some merit to it. Although, you must know, Rei, that a _lady_ does not get _‘drunk.’_ ” The rest was whispered conspiratorially: “Alcohol makes a loose woman, or so they say. In my case, alcohol is serving to treat the trollop instead. How ironic!”

Rei shook her head as she exited the apartment. “Can you tell me where you are? I want to come visit you.”

“Yes, do! I seem to have a rather abundance of wine at the bar, and I think I may need help finishing it off. Come visit the punished Lamia, the monster borne of infidelity.” She rattled off the address and room number then, assuring Rei that the doorman would grant her access to the penthouse floor.

The two hung up their phones, and Rei rubbed her temples to try and release some tension. “This is going to be one hell of an afternoon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: The ending of this chapter was perhaps the most fun I've had writing in quite a while!


	12. Rei and Michiru: Putting the pieces back together

Rei had been introduced to luxury as a young child; her father being such a prominent political figure had meant that he had flown in prestigious circles, sometimes tugging her along for the ride, a purebred to be poked and prodded and fawned over. The excessive décor was something she always had an eye to appreciate, but as she had gotten older, she found that the lavishness of it all just felt excessive and left her frustrated with the amount of wasteful spending people would do to fill their own greedy desires. It was around the time that she was able to articulate this opinion, as well as several other choice thoughts, that her father lost interest in showing her off at fancy affairs. 

Still, the grandeur of the lobby was not lost on her, and she fought the urge to crane her head upwards to examine the gold-leafed crown molding high on the ceilings, lest she gawk like a simpleton. True to Michiru’s word, the doorman and elevator attendant were most gracious to Rei, ushering her up to the penthouse floor with a level of attentiveness that made her slightly uncomfortable. She kept debating silently if she was supposed to tip the elevator attendant—on one hand, surely rich people had money to tip; on the other hand, palming cash to him seemed a bit gauche. Before she had made up her mind, the elevator stopped and its door opened, revealing a lovely glass elevator right across the hall.

“The penthouse suite has its own elevator, of course,” he intoned smoothly as he crossed the hall and slid his keycard in one smooth motion.

“Of course,” Rei muttered, some disdain evident that the attendant was trained to ignore, and she entered the elevator alone, rising a single floor in a great glass box that made little rainbows dance every time the light caught it. The doors slid open with a light ding onto a parlor decorated in tasteful luxury, clean and bright, but generic enough that it would cater to a wide variety of tastes. (Well, so long as those tastes were extremely excessive, Rei thought, removing her shoes before stepping into what she suspected was a real white fur rug.)

“Michiru?” her voice seemed swallowed by the vast space, a hotel suite bigger than some people’s entire houses, the soft fineries muffling her query. She called out the name again as she padded forward, the rug sinking delightfully under her feet. There was a full-sized kitchen to her left and a large living area to the right, complete with a fireplace and large mirror overtop that she realized was a cleverly hidden television set. There was a hallway leading off of both sides, so she shrugged and tried the one off the kitchen first. 

This hallway led to a full bath, a bar room that could easily seat twenty, stocked with fine liquors and wines, and a fully-equipped office, computer light blinking slowly at her. “Not helpful,” she muttered, turning heel and marching across the penthouse. One small and empty bedroom greeted her, and she groaned in frustration before noticing a rather ornate door in the hall. Figuring that would be the Master Suite, she knocked; when she received no response, she entered brusquely.

The room was illuminated with an excess of natural light, one entire wall taken up by floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto a private hot tub and a stunning view of the city. But more urgently, Michiru was laying on the king-sized bed, dressed in a silk slip and unmoving.

“Michiru?” Rei darted to her side and flipped her dead weight over, her thoughts immediately running to the worst. Thankfully, she was breathing and didn’t seem to be hurt. Her eyes blearily opened, and she gave a small, wobbly grin.

“Rei! So wonderful to see you. Might I interest you in a drink?” Michiru moved to sit up and quickly found it useless, so she allowed herself to sink back onto the bed instead. “I’m afraid I’m going to be a poor hostess; you’ll have to fetch your own.” Her right arm loosely flopped towards a large bar cart, several bottles of wine and wineglasses sitting upon it.

Rei rolled her eyes but crossed to it all the same, not one to turn down a good, free drink, especially when her night was about to be this difficult. “Geez, Michiru, you really went at it,” she whispered, turning over two empty bottles in her hands. There was another opened and only perhaps a quarter drunk, so Rei poured herself a glass and crossed to sit facing the bed.

“I am compelled to tell you that you’re drinking a very fine vintage red—”

“Yes, Michiru, I know you’re rich—”

“—but you poured it into a white wine glass.” Her smirk was the same even when she was drunk, and Rei blushed at the callout.

“Well what does it matter anyway?” She took a sip and swallowed it hard, trying to tamp down her frustration.

Michiru giggled a little, a hand rising to cover her mouth. “I confess I’ve never researched. Something about the bouquet, I think.”

_She must be absolutely blasted if she’s admitting she doesn’t know something fancy,_ Rei thought, eyebrows raised well into her bangs as she took another sip, this one more measured. “I assume you’re upset.” Her eyes glanced pointedly at the thoroughly indulged wine cart as proof of her statement.

“Nonsense, this is merely my typical Thursday appointment,” Michiru breezily replied, the smallest slur evident in her otherwise impeccable diction.

Rei exhaled in a short burst, caught between finding the situation funny and heartrending. “It’s Friday.”

Michiru blinked at her, eyes wide, a hint of bags evident below them upon close inspection. “Is that so?” She seemed genuinely baffled as she plucked her watch off the nightstand and confirmed the date. “Goodness, how easy it is to lose track of time! They say ‘time flies when you’re having fun,’ but I think it perhaps can speed by just as quickly when the opposite is occurring. What do you think, Rei?” she asked, their eyes meeting, Michiru’s eyes flashing back to their usual sharpness, deep waters capable of swallowing a person whole.

She snorted in response. “If you want time advice, that’s Setsuna’s bag, not mine.” Rei swallowed another drink of wine, and the flavor turned sour in her mouth as she realized that it _wasn’t_ Setsuna’s domain any more, all of that having been lost. Her black hair rippled around her as she shook her head hard, clearing away lingering thoughts, imagining them falling away to leave only a blank slate, her mind an etch-a-sketch in an earthquake.

“You didn’t tell me to come over to talk about time, Michiru.” Rei sat down her empty glass on the nightstand next to a twin of Michiru’s, a swallow remaining, her lipstick still slightly visible on the rim. “You want to talk about Haruka.”

Michiru didn’t wince but her eyes crinkled shut tightly as she turned her face away, and that was as close to a flinch as she had ever allowed anyone to see. “There’s not much to say.” Rei remained silent and unmoving, fighting all of her usual instincts in an effort to draw out further elaboration. She was rewarded when after a minute Michiru continued, her face still turned towards the windows, eyes gazing outside unseeingly. “The universe conspired to give me the most beautiful, the most precious gift, in her. She is—” a steady inhale, to calm her shaking voice “—the best thing I have ever possessed. And I—” Michiru cleared her throat, and Rei pretended not to notice her eyes going glassy.

“I have this terrible habit, you see. I feel I cannot touch something so pure, so lovely, without sullying it. I cannot paint happiness; I cannot play joyful etudes. I am, I think, meant for the deep waters after all, where no one can reach me. But she did, and what did I do? Rather than letting her float back to the sunlight, I drug her down, and I _drowned_ her.” There were tears falling from her eyes one at a time, streaking slowly down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. “I only hope I haven’t ruined her completely.”

_Next time Minako mentions Haruka’s dramatics, I should bring this up,_ Rei mused, knowing somehow that she never would, that she would allow this soft part of her friend to remain hidden, tucked away as she had always been. She couldn’t stop her eyes rolling, though, nor stem her response. “I think you’re overdoing the sea metaphors a little.” Her tone was gently chiding, the way she used to talk to Usagi when she needed a pick-me-up, and her heart panged as she remembered she would never get to do that to her again.

_Not now._ She forced down her grief, pushing it deep within her gut, and continued speaking. “You didn’t ruin her. She’s a grown-ass woman, Michiru, not some fancy couch. She’ll get over it.” Rei realized that she was being a bit too brusque for Michiru in such a delicate state, and she shifted her tone to something softer. “I mean, yeah, this hurt her. But I think she could forgive you.” Michiru turned her face back towards Rei, a sardonic disbelief coloring her features. “It’ll take a while, if she does, but I think there’s a good chance.”

“I doubt it,” Michiru whispered, reaching for her wine glass, only for Rei to lightly slap the back of her hand. She raised her eyes, her mouth open in a most uncouth fashion, as she gaped at her friend.

“Oh hush, I barely touched you. And you’re cut off the wine for right now, you’ve had enough.” She crossed her arms and gave her best stern look. Normally she knew Michiru would laugh in her face and say she would do as she pleased, but instead she assented that she probably had drank enough and retracted her hand.

“This whole thing is a fucking mess, and I won’t tell you it’s not,” Rei stated flatly. “But Haruka loves you a ludicrous amount, and if anyone could forgive you for cheating, it would be her. I can’t See for shit any more, and I know you can’t either, but honestly, I think the chances are fairly good that you end up back together.”

Michiru absently rubbed the spot where her wedding ring used to be, unconsciously fiddling with the empty space as she responded, “I do so hope you’re right.”


	13. Minako and Haruka: Keep Moving Forward

“Haruka, when’s the last time you took a shower?” Minako’s nose wrinkled a little. “You’re a little ripe, bud.” That part wasn’t necessarily true—Haruka didn’t smell quite yet, but her hair was lank and greasy, and she was still clearly wearing the same clothes she had been the day prior.

“Shut up,” Haruka muttered, taking a swig of her beer. She sipped thoughtfully, swishing the drink around a little in her mouth. “Sunday, maybe? I’m, uh, not sure.” She shifted on the couch, sitting upright rather than lying down. “It doesn’t really matter, Mina.”

Minako slammed her beer bottle down on the glass end table with a noise that made Haruka wince, thankful that nothing had cracked with the force of the action. _Michiru would be furious,_ she thought absently; then, frustrated that she had thought of her yet again, she raised the bottle to her lips and took an angry draught.

“’Ruka, it fucking matters if you’re clean, one: because I prefer not to smell overripe butch, and two: because I refuse to stay in _again_ , and I’m not taking you out when you look like a kicked dog.” She stood up and brushed off her leathery leggings, removing any imaginary lint. “Come on, I’ll help you up the stairs,” she added, a little gentler, hand extended to assist in lifting her.

Haruka angrily swatted the hand away. “I don’t need your help, Minako. You go out without me.” She drank once more before the bottle was yanked from her grasp, foam droplets dotting her pajama pants, darkening the racecar print and making her frown heavily.

“Haruka, I’m pretty sure you haven’t moved off the couch except to piss in like five days. We’ve exhausted our favorite delivery options, and you need to reintegrate into society. See people that aren’t animated.” She swung her arm towards the television, _Up_ illustrating her point.

The seated woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “Jesus, Mina, _‘reintegrate into society’_ like I’m getting released from prison or something.”

“Well, there’s something to be said for self-made prisons,” Minako muttered in response, crossing to turn off the television and ignoring Haruka’s cry of protest.

“Oi, I’m right in the middle—”

“—’Ruka, I assure you, that Drake—”

“— _Dug_ —”

“— _whatever,_ will still be here when we get back.” She turned back to face her friend, expression stony to show that she would not be willing to compromise. 

But Haruka wasn’t one to back down either, and she stood up to confront Minako, albeit a little wobbly from both getting used to her new prosthetic and the several beers she had speedily downed. “Listen, Mina, I don’t need your _fucking_ pity!” She pointed an accusatory finger in Minako’s face as she continued in a roar, exploding all of her pain in the direction of the other woman. “If I want to stay in and watch movies with happy endings, and drink, and not shower, that is _my_ fucking problem, okay? _Not_ yours!” 

Her arms swung out wildly, showcasing the little couch nest she had built for herself, cheap fleece blankets that didn’t smell of Michiru, a stack of movies that were animated and happy without the presence of romance, glass bottles littering the floor around her perch. “ _This_ is what is making me happy, okay? So turn the TV back on and get out of my house!” With that last shout, she flopped back onto the couch with a loud _thud_ , knocking a few bottles over as she did so. In the back of her mind, she could almost hear Michiru worrying that any lingering beer would stain the carpet, but that reminder just served to make her almost glad that she had knocked them down, happy to destroy something that she would have wanted to keep pristine.

Minako let out a harsh sigh and then pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger, shaking her head roughly. “You should listen to yourself, Haruka. You sound absolutely cracked.” Haruka opened her mouth to indignantly reply, but Minako’s hand snapped back down to her side, a soldier coming into form, and the blaze in her eyes silenced whatever she was going to yell out.

“I have let you wallow in this for a _week_ , Haruka. I haven’t asked questions. I haven’t made demands. I have let you sit, and stew, and _drink_ until I’m not sure when the last time you were sober even _was_ , and I haven’t said a word. Have I?” She didn’t wait for a response in her clipped, icy tirade before continuing. “But damn it, Haruka, there comes a time when you need to _get the fuck over it_. I’m not going to keep coddling your ass until it becomes fused to the couch and we need the fire department to come cut you out, okay? If that’s what you want, if that’s all you’re willing to accept, then call someone else, because I refuse to let you effectively end your life over this.”

“You don’t understand, Mina, it’s not like you’ve ever been in love,” Haruka spat acidly, regretting the words the moment that they left her mouth.

Minako barked out a loud laugh, eyes raised to the ceiling, before jumping right back in to her speech. “Bitch, I, _the reincarnated goddess of Love,_ think I may have an _eensy-weensy idea_ of what love is, okay? So if you’re done channeling your fucking mom over there, I’d like to finish.” It was a low blow and they both knew it, Haruka wincing the second that her mom was brought into the conversation, like always, but it wasn’t to say that Minako didn’t have a point. Her mother had been cruel and callous, spurning away everyone who ever tried to help her—young Haruka included—with words and fists until she eventually wasted away, a combination of drugs, alcohol, and self-pity that added up to a lethal cocktail.

The dawning horror of the realization that she was, in fact, acting almost exactly like her mother must have shown on Haruka’s face, because Minako sat down on the ottoman to reach her at eye level and lowered her voice back to a normal speaking volume. “Calm down, you’re not your mom, Haruka. But right now, I won’t bullshit you, you _are_ acting like her, and that’s why I’m not letting you do it any longer. I will _not_ —” Minako took a moment to swallow hard, and Haruka saw that there were tears in the corners of her eyes “—I will _not_ lose someone else that I love because I did nothing to save them.” She swiped the back of her hand across her eyes furiously, not allowing the tears to fall, lest she begin to cry and never stop.

“The choice is yours, ’Ruka. You can get a shower and come grab some deep-fried food that we don’t have to reheat in the oven with me and a couple of the girls, or you can sit on this couch and rot. But if you decide to stay, don’t expect me to hold your hand and watch you kill yourself. I won’t do it.”

Minako stood back up then, beginning to cross to the doorway before she paused to turn back around. With utmost sincerity in her eyes, she added, “Haruka, you’re so strong. You always were one of my best soldiers. You lost half of your fucking leg and you’re already walking around, before all this shit with Michiru, you were even telling me you were gonna try running soon. Don’t let this be the thing that breaks you when you’ve already overcome so much.”

Haruka sat, fingers fiddling idly with the scratchy fleece in her lap, eyes roaming over the little cocoon she had made in a futile effort to block out the pain. She imagined herself in six months, still on the couch, bottles of hard liquor added to her glass graveyard, pain pills strewn across the end table, still staring at the screen and waiting for her life to be as easy as a Pixar movie, knowing that if she picked up her phone, Minako might not answer.

“Wait,” she called, standing up. Minako was still lacing up her boots, and she paused to glance upwards. “Give me like fifteen minutes. Actually,” she sniffed her armpit and wrinkled her nose, “maybe give me like a half hour. You weren’t wrong about ripe butch smell.” She let the corner of her mouth turn up in a little smile, and Minako returned it tenfold as her face lit up with a supermodel-worthy beam.

“That’s perfect, I could use some time to catch up on my Snapchat feed,” Minako replied, winking easily as she stood, revealing that her boots were completely laced and she had just been stalling for time.

Haruka rolled her eyes and turned towards the bathroom before thinking better of it and turning back around. “Mina, about what I said—”

“Psh, don’t worry about it, I know you didn’t mean it, you softie.” Minako waved away the concern with a flick of her wrist, barely looking up as she tapped through something on her phone. Haruka smiled, a little unconvinced, but knowing that she wouldn’t get more out of stretching the issue, and continued her trek to the bathroom.

“You know, her death wasn’t your fault,” she called over her shoulder, unwilling to turn around and see Minako flinch the way she always did—the way they all still did—when Usagi was brought up.

“I know, I know, now go shower before I turn the hose on you!” When Haruka was out of the room, Minako muttered to herself, allowing her mask of happiness to fall for a moment to reveal a pained expression underneath, “That’s what everyone keeps telling me, anyway.” She pressed _Send_ on the message for everyone to meet at the bar and sat down to wait.


	14. Makoto, Minako, Rei, and Ami: Group therapy

“How’s she holding up?” Makoto stirred the dip mixture in her bowl absently, more focused on Minako’s facial expression than evenly distributing the ingredients. The movie nights at her apartment had become almost a weekly tradition now, a means to keep all of them together even without meeting over Senshi duties.

“Good as can be expected,” Minako replied flatly, reaching for a cookie even though she knew Makoto would swat her hand away. She did so, and the blonde responded by sticking her tongue out playfully. “I mean, she’s honestly doing great with the leg thing, she’s too distracted by her soul having been ripped from her body,” she deadpanned, rolling her eyes at the conclusion of the sentence.

Makoto silently wondered if she should feel guilty that Haruka wasn’t angsting over her leg any more given the circumstances as Minako prattled on. “I mean, Miss Succubus isn’t doing super well, according to Rei. Guess it’s good to know there’s a heart in there somewhere.” She rolled her eyes as her hand dipped into her pocket, pulling out her vibrating cellphone. “Rei says she’ll be here in five. Ami’s just got a nasty car accident in the ER, so they need all the interns on deck and she’s gonna be late.”

The dip was spooned into its serving tray, already crowded with various vegetables and crackers. “Cool. Take this into the living room, will you?” She thrust the tray into Minako’s hands, causing her to fumble putting away her phone before accepting the offering. “And don’t eat it all!” Makoto called after her, turning around to take the cheesecake bites out of the fridge.

“Holy SHIT, Mako, where did you get this TV? It’s massive!” Minako cried, ogling the new television that easily took up half of Makoto’s wall space.

Makoto crossed her small apartment quickly and set the food on her coffee table, already crowded with other treats. “That would be a gift from the Succubus, as you called her.” She shrugged at Minako’s stunned expression. “It came this morning with a little card. She said she felt bad she never comes so she wanted to send a ‘small token of appreciation,’” she added with air quotes. Michiru’s idea of “small” was obviously much different than their own.

The Outers had been invited to the movie nights, but none had ever showed up. Haruka had been too busy drowning in her own self-loathing, Setsuna just sent polite refusals, and Michiru had never even replied. Minako had spitefully commented that she must have felt herself too good to even lower herself to an RSVP, but Michiru’s rather lavish gift told a different story to Makoto. She was still debating what she was going to make and send as a thank-you of her own—she had decided on a few Petit Fours but was still tossing up different flavor combinations in her mind.

“Well. That was nice of her.” Minako spat out the words with difficulty, sounding about as convincing as a child who had received socks instead of games for their birthday. “She’s still a soulless squid monster though,” she muttered petulantly, crossing her arms as she flopped down on the couch.

Makoto was spared from responding when the door opened, Rei marching in and slamming it behind her. “Sorry, the line at the video store was _insane_ ,” she huffed, tossing a bag with several rented DVDs onto the floor.

Minako rolled her eyes and popped a pretzel into her mouth. “Rei, I told you, we should just get Netflix.”

“I don’t watch TV at home, Mina, and using the service once a week, its cheaper to rent a movie overnight.”

Makoto chimed in, “Actually, Rei, my new TV came with a year free of Netflix and Hulu, so…” She trailed off and looked at the sad plastic bag wilted on her floor, a cracked corner of a case poking out. “I didn’t set it up yet though, so this is fine for tonight!” she finished, cracking a smile to try and diffuse the tension.

Thankfully, Rei was too distracted by the mention of a new TV to go on a diatribe about corporate greed and small businesses as she spun around to look at the appliance. “Damn, I didn’t think she was going to do _this_ ,” she said quietly, eyes roving over the huge curved screen, currently displaying the options menu.

“Wait, you knew she was going to send me this?” Makoto asked. “Why didn’t you warn me? The guys showed up when I was covered in flour, I felt so bad I wasn’t prepared—”

Rei shook her head as she sat next to her on the couch. “Michiru told me she wanted to send you some kind of thank-you gift, and she told me she wasn’t sure what, so I said maybe some DVDs or a little sound bar but this…” she trailed off, hand gesturing outward lazily. “This is just Michiru not knowing what a ‘small’ present is, I guess.” 

“She didn’t have to give me anything.” She plopped onto her ottoman and nibbled the corner off of one of her cheesecake bites. She had really just invited Michiru on principle, knowing that she would never come, but it didn’t seem right to just invite Haruka and not her too. 

“Of course she did,” Mina snorted. “Her Highness is too good to slum with us peasants, so she sends us cake from the palace instead.” She bitterly snapped a cracker in two before popping half of it into her mouth.

“Actually,” Rei snapped back, “she doesn’t come because she knows you hate her, and she thinks everyone else doesn’t like her and we just put up with her because of Haruka, and she doesn’t want to spoil our fun. But you wouldn’t know that, because you’re too intent on looking at her as some kind of monster.” Rei’s face was flushed, and she knew immediately that she had just betrayed Michiru’s confidence, but she was too mad to care. “You know, she’s my _friend_ , and you bitch about her _all the time_ , and I want you to know that she never talks about you, she actually never talks about _any_ of you, in a bad way. I’m sick of you bashing her. Michiru’s not perfect, but she’s a person, and though it may shock you, she _does_ have feelings, Mina.”

Minako had slowly been grinding what remained of her cracker to dust in her fist as Rei spoke. “Haruka has feelings too, Rei. You know, Haruka? My best friend? That woman who Michiru fucking _cheated_ on? Sorry that I care a little bit more about her because she’s not some manipulative, back-stabbing —”

“That’s _enough_!” Makoto roared, standing up to tower over the sitting women, the veins in her neck beginning to throb. “Minako, Michiru just did something really nice that she didn’t have to do for me, so stop badmouthing her for a few fucking hours while you’re here. Rei, just…calm down,” she finished lamely. The other two shut their mouths and slunk back into their seats looking thoroughly chastised, although Rei was a little smug under her abashed expression.

“God, all you two do is fight,” Makoto muttered, flopping back down and putting her head in her hands. “Usagi would be so upset if she saw us like this.” She had meant for it to stay in her head, but she had whispered the thought aloud accidentally.

The silence lingered heavy in the air, their shared grief thickening the room with its cloying heaviness. “I miss her,” Rei whispered, and they looked up to see her crying, mascara tears falling steadily down her face. It was the first time they had seen her really cry since the funeral, and Makoto gently put her hand on Rei’s lap.

“Me too,” she added, allowing her own tears to fall, adding unneeded salt to the half-finished dessert on her lap.

Minako stared stubbornly at the television, her eyesight going blurry from the tears she was trying to not let fall. Rei saw this and shifted towards her, trying to be tender, thinking of what Usagi would do. “Mina, it’s okay. It’s okay if you want to cry. We can blackmail each other into keeping it a secret that we feel things,” she joked badly, touching her hand gently to Minako’s shoulder. Minako jerked out of the touch, and Rei, always so resistant to fire, felt for the first time what it was like to be burned.

“You guys cry. I’m fine.”

“You’re _not_ fine, Minako. Fuck, none of us are fine,” Makoto added derisively. “But we’re _trying_. Maybe it would be easier if we tried together instead of apart. It’s what she would have wanted.”

“We don’t get to know what she would have wanted because she’s _dead_ , Mako, she’s _dead_ and she’s _never coming back_ , and it’s —” her sentence ended with a shuddering intake of breath as her head dropped down to her chest, blonde hair falling in a thick curtain to hide her face.

“It’s not your fault.” All three whipped their heads to see Ami, who none had even noticed enter, standing with tears in her eyes. “She’s gone, but it’s not your fault, Minako.”

Minako let out a barking laugh, and the attention turned back to her, tears now streaming freely down her face, lines of black marring her perfect complexion. “That’s funny. Maybe you should have gone into stand-up instead of medicine.” No one responded. “I told her to do whatever was necessary. I gave her a command because that’s what _General Venus_ was always _meant_ for, wasn’t it?” She glared at the ceiling, howling, “I did what you wanted, Serenity, you bitch! I hope you’re fucking happy! Maybe next time you should pick a better leader, or maybe wait until we’re not _literally children_ to fucking decide that we get to give up our lives to be your- your _puppets_!”

Ami approached her and knelt. “Minako, I ran the numbers, you know that. If she hadn’t done what she did, the world would have ended. She would have never been able to live with herself.” She sighed as her eyes looked away, seeing a battle that wasn’t there. “She was going to do it whether you told her to or not.”

Minako slumped down, the tears falling fast and thick, dotting her leggings with dark spots. “I know. It doesn’t change that _I_ was the one that gave her the order, though.” She looked at her friends uneasily. “If- if you don’t want me around for a while —” There was an uncharacteristic smallness, a touch of vulnerability in her voice, her self-sure veneer slipping for just a moment, the visor lowered.

Makoto said nothing, but instead crossed and enveloped Minako in a tight hug, which caused her to start sobbing in earnest again. “You- are- the _worst_ hugger, Mako,” she hiccupped, burying her face into the warm shoulder in front of her. “Your hugs- make- me- cry.”

“I know, I know,” she replied soothingly, stroking Minako’s hair gently, holding her the way she remembered being held by her mother as a child, trying to convey love through just her embrace as her mother had done. She felt Ami scoot closer and envelop Minako on the left, and after a moment of hesitation, Rei rounded out the embrace on the right, her still slightly warmer than average body temperature adding extra warmth. They allowed themselves to cry and to mourn separately, each thinking of what they missed about Usagi the most, each thinking of what they wish they had said to her, and they held each other tighter for all of it, the silent acknowledgement that they would never have to deal with it alone.

Outside the full moon rose, its light shining gently through the window and touching the four women with its shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before anyone asks: yes, Usagi is REALLY dead; no, she is NOT coming back magically. The last line is more to touch on the idea of loved ones watching over us from afar, the idea that Usagi would be happy to see them all healing together, but she is 100% dead, folks.


	15. Rei, Minako, Makoto, Ami, Haruka, Michiru, and Setsuna: One year later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HOLY SHIT THIS IS THE LAST CHAPTER Y’ALL. The ending of this is sappy, but I really wanted there to be a sense of hope rather than despair at the end of this.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has commented and supported this series. I genuinely would not have finished this work without all of your support.

The sky was a perfect shade of blue, and the sun peeked out from behind a few fluffy clouds as they drifted lazily along in the gentle breeze. The weather was so perfect it made some small part of Rei, something that was still bitter and angry at having lost her—“best friend” sounded almost too childish, too immature for the bond that they had shared, and yet Usagi would have loved it all the more for that—angry. Nature, it would seem, was intent on giving the day the sort of beauty that Usagi would have appreciated, rather than hammering down a storm to echo the strain they had all been under for the past year.

Minako was trying to appreciate the horizon beyond the grey tombstones, but all she could see in the cemetery stretching before her were rows of silent and perfect soldiers, lined up for a battle against mortality that they had all lost.

“She would have drug us out,” Minako muttered aloud before realizing that she had done so. When Rei looked at her questioningly, she continued. “Ami would have had us all studying, right, and Usagi would have insisted a day like this needed to be spent studying _outside_ , and eventually she would have gotten us all outdoors to study.”

Rei smiled gently, gently as she only ever was when Usagi was the topic of conversation, and for all of the pain that it had caused, Minako selfishly thought that there was something beautiful in seeing Rei’s softer side instead of the harsh edges she took such care to project.

“Yeah, except every time she did that we never got any studying done,” Rei chimed in, and the criticism in her tone was tinged with a wistful caress.

Minako snorted. “As if we ever studied anyway.” 

The levity of their conversation quickly turned to solemnness as Usagi’s grave came before them, the large headstone so much colder and more rigid than she had ever been. Even the phrase carved above the dates of her birth and death—“Beloved Daughter and Friend to All”—seemed too cliché to show the depths of her compassion and the power of her love, power enough to save the world several times over. 

Minako laid down the flowers she had brought underneath the large floral arrangement from Usagi’s family; her orange roses looked a little paltry in comparison, but they were quickly joined by Rei’s lilies, which helped them to look less lonely. Rei knelt to touch Usagi’s name with the tip of her fingers in silent reverence, tracing the curves of the engraving as though it was her friend’s cheek. A reassuring hand squeezed her left shoulder as Minako kneeled beside her, and she allowed her head to fall onto her girlfriend’s shoulder, the two of them sharing a deep, unspoken grief together.

A few minutes of this passed before they heard the sound of footsteps approaching. Both turned around to see Makoto, Haruka, and Ami coming towards the grave. Haruka’s walk was almost perfect now that she had gotten used to her prosthetic, and if it hadn’t been visible from her shorts, no one would ever guess that she had lost it only months ago.

“We can wait, if we’re interrupting,” Ami said, shifting the forget-me-not bouquet in her hands uneasily. Minako could just make out a folded-up paper tucked into its ribbon; probably some of Ami’s poetry, which, while heartfelt, was never exceptionally crafted.

Rei shook her head as she stood, wiping her eyes dry. “Not at all.” She and Minako moved aside to allow the others to lay their offerings: a lovely pink and white bouquet from Makoto, and a scarf from Haruka. “It’s from one of the first times we met,” she muttered as she laid it among the flowers, answering a question that no one had asked aloud.

“It’s hard to believe that it’s been a year,” Makoto stated, dabbing at her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.

The sound of more footfalls caused the small assembly to turn around, only to see Michiru and Setsuna approaching the gravesite. Setsuna had a bouquet of deep red roses in hand, which coordinated well with Michiru’s deep purple orchids. Michiru stopped in her tracks, eyes a little wide at the sight of Haruka. Rei could see the small movement of her eyes flickering—for Michiru, the equivalent of being a deer caught in the headlights—as she considered leaving and coming back later.

“Do you mind if we join you?” Setsuna intoned, her deep voice breaking the silence that had befallen them all.

“Nope,” answered Haruka, looking Michiru in the eyes with such an intensity that Michiru lowered her gaze under the pretense of placing her flowers in the burgeoning pile. Setsuna followed suit, and without communicating as such, they all stood around the grave together.

“She would have liked this,” Rei said, causing all eyes to glance to her. “All of us together, a year later. I think- I think it would have made her happy.” Her words got slightly choked by the tears she was holding back, and Minako wrapped her arm around her, squeezing her close. Everyone else nodded in agreement.

“If you guys want, I was going to have everyone over. We were going to kind of reminisce and look at pictures and generally be really sappy,” Makoto added, her invitation extended to the three older women, who were always a little separate from the group. She had originally just planned for it to be the four of them, but something about all of them standing in the same space together, for the first time since Mamoru’s funeral, just seemed to feel right.

“I’m in,” Haruka replied, still pointedly looking at Michiru with an unreadable expression.

“I would love to attend,” was Setsuna’s sincere acceptance.

Michiru’s expression was unfamiliar, and it took the rest of them a moment to recognize that she actually appeared to be nervous about responding. All eyes were on her now, waiting to see what she would say, and her gaze flickered around the group as she formulated her response. “I would, Makoto, but you see –”

“You should come,” Minako blurted out unthinkingly, surprising everyone, but no one more than Michiru, whose eyes widened. “Usagi would have wanted you with us, not alone.”

Michiru cleared her throat lightly, eyes focused now on Haruka, seemingly waiting for her approval before making a decision. “That may be true, but still –”

“We want you there,” Haruka interrupted. “The whole group. Together.” She smiled a little, and while it didn’t quite reach her eyes, the upturned corners of her mouth still released the tension in Michiru’s shoulders that she hadn’t even realized she was holding.

“Well, in that case, it would be incredibly rude for me to refuse,” came Michiru’s practiced response, but there was a sincerity in the smile that accompanied it. 

The group splintered apart then, everyone chatting amongst themselves to determine who would be riding together to Makoto’s apartment, but Michiru stayed a little apart from the rest as they walked away, her attention focused now entirely on the tomb that stood before her.

“Michiru,” came a voice, the most familiar voice in the world to her, and she turned to see Haruka standing a few feet away, her hands shoved awkwardly in her pockets. “You are _actually_ coming, right?”

Michiru nodded in assent, her fingers fiddling with the clasp on her clutch, twitching in the anxious way that she could only ever calm with a brush or bow.

“Good. Good.” Haruka nodded, her head bobbing a few too many times.

“I suppose I shall get going, then,” Michiru said, turning away.

“Wait.” She turned back around, something like hope welling up in her chest, a fragile balloon slowly inflating.

“Yes?”

“Do you wanna, um, maybe get coffee, or something, this week? Maybe talk some stuff out?” Haruka ran her hand through her hair in the way that she always did when she was nervous. “The house is really, really big for one person.”

The balloon began to deflate, the hope rushing out of it faster than it had filled. “If you want to sell the house, Haruka, you needn’t ask my permission,” she replied, not unkindly, but in a tone that closed her back off.

“No, no, it’s not that,” Haruka answered, her hands waving as she shook her head. “It’s just…I mean, there’s a whole empty studio there. And there’s _way_ too much closet space for just me. And the bed—what _one_ person gets a California King, honestly? It’s insane.” She laughed nervously, hands raking through her hair again.

There it was again—that dangerous hope, this time swelling so fast that it threatened to break her ribs with its force. “Are you asking me to move back in? After all I did to you?” It came out in barely a whisper, her throat unwilling to voice the queries any louder.

“I’m not saying I forgive you. But…I love you, Michi. I don’t want to just give up on this—on _us_. Let’s try, at least? I mean, if you still want to,” she added hastily. She dug two small rings out of her pocket, and Michiru noticed that she had her wedding band on.

“I would love nothing more,” Michiru answered, slipping the rings on reverently, then rushing forward in a manner that was altogether ungraceful in her elation to embrace her wife, shoving her face into her chest to breathe in her cologne.

Haruka wrapped her arms around her and pretended to ignore the sobs that were slowly soaking her shirt. “Come on, Michi,” she whispered, “let’s go.” She gave one last glance to Usagi’s grave, the sun shining brightly off of the marble, as a butterfly landed gently on top of the pile of flowers there.

–

The nature of grief is that it shatters everything a person knows about themself. True grief rips apart the very fabric of an individual and rends them into smaller pieces, anger and sadness and all emotions in-between shaken up like snowflakes in a globe, whirling around chaotically.

But eventually the snow settles, and while the landscape of the soul is forever changed, it is not always destroyed in a way that cannot be put back together.

“To Usagi,” Minako toasted, holding her drink aloft. “Without her, I would never have met any of you. And I love all of you assholes.” She smiled cheekily as she looked around the room.

“To Usagi,” everyone echoed.

“The best friend you could ask for,” added Ami.

“The biggest crybaby in the world,” chimed in Rei, smiling, as everyone took a sip of their drinks.

“We miss you so much,” choked out Makoto, visibly trying to keep herself composed. Michiru offered her a handkerchief and she took it gratefully, allowing the older woman to gently squeeze her hand, a comforting gesture that was, for Michiru, gentler than anything the others had seen from her before.

There was no moon in the sky that night, but for a moment the room seemed to become just a little bit brighter. They each felt a warmth in their chests, a touch of love that burned bright and hot as a shining star.

_“I love you all. Be happy together.”_

The words weren’t heard so much as sensed, and by the time they realized what had transpired, the feeling had faded away, leaving a lingering sense of serenity.

They would never be the same for having lost her, but they knew it would all be okay, as long as they had each other.


End file.
